I started writing this post a little while ago, but now must give a completely new introduction because some exciting things happened today. I, after several months in the kitchen, have reached the biggest milestone. A point I hoped to reach in the next 3-4 months. A point I wanted to reach and become competent at before going to culinary school.
I have worked the hot line.
I have used the element of heat to transform raw ingredients in to delectable cuisine ... in a professional setting, at a high-end restaurant.
I have made ... pasta.
You know that scene in "Cast Away" when Tom Hanks makes fire for the first time, and proclaims to no one "I! ... HAVE MADE! ... FIRE!" Yeah that's pretty much what happened in the kitchen. There was no containing my excitement and there was no hiding my complete ineptitude, but I shouted to the culinary gods that I! HAVE MADE! MUSHROOM TAGLIATELLE!
So yes, I was completely abuzz with nervousness and excitement as I stared down that massive pot of pasta water. Four burners in front of me, my pans above the salamander, and this big boiling bastard that will cook my pasta. I will tame you. I will climb you, you Everest of starch-laden water. But first, I must get a quick crash course in all of our current pasta dishes.
It was a very slow night tonight, and I was hoping for an evening like this so that the other cooks would have time to walk me through some basic techniques. Every second I'm not tied to my station, or doing something for the chef, I watch how the hot line rolls. That's where I want to be, climbing my way from grill, to pasta, to saute. Saute station, the big daddy, the sous chef spot. I want that. So I knew basically how the station worked. But I didn't know the details of every dish. And let me tell you, there are a fuck load of details.
I could easily fill many pages with instructions on how to make the various pasta dishes but let me just give you an example of one of the simpler ones.
I'm not sure what it's called on the menu because we change that shit really often, but on the ticket it's just called Onion Pasta.
1) Heat up a pan, drop in 2 ladles of caramelized onions, 1 ladle of chicken stock, a pinch of roasted garlic, and salt/pepper to taste.
2) Drop in a few knobs of butter to let it thicken, heat through and begin to reduce.
3) Let the sauce reduce to a "thick" consistency, taste, set aside.
4) When the waiter calls for a "pick up" time to finish the dish. Drop in a "big handful" of regular ole' spaghetti in to the pasta waster.
5) Let the spaghetti reheat for 30 seconds, bring the sauce back up to temperature, moisten the pan with a few drops of pasta water if necessary. (This is one of those pro veteran moves where you pull one of the pasta baskets out of the water and drip a few drops of water in to your pan)
6) Combine pasta and sauce, add salt (it'll probably need it), toss, i.e. flip the pan and toss to combine without using tongs, because tongs are clumsy and inefficient and have a chance of tearing pasta ... oh and do this with your left hand because your right hand needs to be available, and if your left hand is retarded for some reason even though you played cello for 10 years then you're shit out of luck.
7) Twist the pasta in to a nice mound with tongs, plate on to a bowl (weird sentence, I know), add tomato fondue, chopped herbs (parsley, sage, thyme, rosemary .. and marjoram .. taste it, Garfunkel), parmigiano reggiano, and breadcrumbs.
8) Slide it under the salamander for 15 seconds to brown the cheese/breadcrumbs, slide it into the window, it's done.
Eight steps doesn't seem all that bad. And when you write out the steps it certainly seems way more complicated than it actually is. Working in a kitchen is very much a matter of habit and practice. But when the night is busy, you have a bajillion other things to do, or you just got slammed with 6 different pasta dishes that have equally or more complicated directions then ... fuck. Add in completely n00b skillz with the hot line, and you have a recipe for disaster.
But it worked out all right. I churned out 5-6 pasta dishes with help from the grill man, Rey, and the sous chef, Chuy. I then even got to do a few completely on my own under their watchful eyes. And then someone ordered risotto which is a completely different kind of bitch, and I called it quits for the night. In fact, once the word "risotto" inked its way on to the ticket Chuy just starts laughing, knowing full well that I would seriously fuck up a risotto right now.
And alas here is my very poorly done tie-in to my original post. Kitchen humor.
The kitchen is a very funny place. That's just what happens when you put together a variety of cultures, languages, overgrown man-children, and a general attitude of complete immaturity. My chef put it very eloquently one day,
"This place, and every other kitchen I've worked in is one big penis joke."
And then as if the culinary deities wanted that to hit home at that moment, someone whips out a well-hidden beef tenderloin from under their apron to "cock slap" one of the dishwashers. Even a cleaned beef tenderloin would rival the alpha walrus for sheer dick size, as Luis tags Gavino from a good 2 feet away. The cow from which this exquisitely tender cut of meat came from is surely displeased to find its backside muscles used so crudely. Chef quickly cuts in to stop the fun (tenderloin is expensive, bro), Luis clearly had no idea that he was there and shuffles back to his station.
But yes ... there are shenanigans. Don't get me wrong, we work hard when it's busy, and generally we take our jobs very seriously. But sometimes there is just a perfect opportunity for a joke, or just a little too much downtime. The Chef seems to be always be around to never let the fun get out of control, to keep our focus on the job, but even he can't be everywhere at all times. And sometimes he can't help but join in.
Enter: Va Pensiero Mystery Hot Pepper Challenge
The Chef walks in with two small boxes of hot peppers. "Some woman from Indiana I know grew these. She gave 'em to me, let's eat them for employee meal." Well we have no idea how hot these things are and no one wants to try. Chuy slices one open and gives it a whiff, recoils. The fear is palpable. Generally, my theory is that peppers are like poisonous reptiles. The small, brightly colored ones are the ones you have to stay the fuck away from. But every once in a while you get a deceptive bastard or a lying whore of a pepper/reptile. Anyhow, Chef calls Chuy out for being a "complete pussy of a Mexican" and that a pepper grown in Indiana cannot possibly be that hot. The only way to know for sure is to try.
I somehow get dragged in to this challenge and we each pick our poison. Following my theory I go for a large, dull red one, thinking, praying that this thing is mild. The chef picks out a wrinkled, yellowish one. I think, HUGE mistake, Chef. Chuy sticks with the sliced open little green one. On 3, we bite.
I've never just taken a bite out of a whole hot pepper. I take a big ole' chomp failing to notice that the others take mincing, girly bites. At first, not much going on, just a slight tingly spiciness. Clearly, the calm before the storm. Or should I say volcano. Spicy tingling and pain literally erupt all over my mouth. I shout expletives, only taking comfort in the fact that the other two are tearing up, looking extremely disappointed in themselves. The Chef can't help but yell angrily, "C'MON! INDIANA!? WHITE WOMAN!? C'MON!"
After suffering for a few minutes, we can't decide which ones to exclude from employee meal. Every one is claiming theirs was the hottest pepper. In the end we use a mixed batch, but of a very modest quantity. Yes, employee meal was plenty spicy.
So that's exactly the kind of stupid behavior you'd expect from a frat house or post-college apartment (nice job with the cinnamon, B). Apparently these stupid contests have been going on for ages. There was the "10 Budino Challenge" of great notoriety. Our budino is a molten chocolate cake, but of far greater quality than any of those bullshit chain desserts. But it is also incredibly rich. Ingredients to make roughly 70 of them? 50 egg yolks, 12 whole eggs, 12 quarts of cream, 3 lb. mix of dark/bittersweet/milk chocolate, 2 lb. confectioner's sugar, and some other flavorings. So the 10 Budino Challenge is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes when we bake them for plating they form a crack that would leak chocolate everywhere on a plate. These wounded soldiers can only serve one purpose; to be consumed by stupid restaurant staff. You could imagine the aftermath, something like in District 9 where he barfs black goo everywhere.
The kitchen can be a funny place. I applaud any women that can work in that environment for long. Clearly I don't expect every kitchen to be like this, but I like that Va Pensiero can produce some seriously good food on a crazy night, but yet still be a fun place to work. We get yelled at, and we get caught "in the weeds" here and there, but if you like kitchen work that's sometimes a lot of the fun. When you're trying to plate angel food cake, fresh strawberries, and zabaglione sauce for a wedding of 70, and your Chef yells at you, "You assholes work like old people have sex! HURRY THE FUCK UP!" You can't help but smile and yet get on your horse at the same time.
Whenever I walk in to the kitchen and when I see the Chef we often have this exchange.
"Hi Chef, how are you?"
"Fat and happy."
"Do we have a party today?"
"Every day is a party at Va Pensiero."
EP #6
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